


Kaleidoscope

by Kireon



Category: RWBY
Genre: Crack Relationships, Crack Treated Seriously, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Minimal OC use, Multi, No ship bashing, Platonic Relationships, Romantic Friendship, Shipping, Writer Is Shipping Trash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2019-11-15 10:35:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18071795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kireon/pseuds/Kireon
Summary: A series of unrelated unless noted one-shots starring the cast of RWBY. Ship/Character Names will be in the chapter title for reader's ease.





	1. Envy (Cinder Fall)

**Author's Note:**

> New one-shot series. It really did take me this long to cave in and write fic for it. I'm impressed with myself, honestly. This is going to be a series of unrelated-unless-noted one-shots starring the cast of RWBY; there will be a wide variety of scenarios, emotions, prompts, and characters used in this. The only thing I ask readers is not to ship/character bash in the comments. There is crack here. There is angst, fluff, humor, serious, etc. Canon and non-canon abounds.

**_Disclaimer:_ ** _I do not own, nor am I associated with the production team, writing team, etc of RWBY, Monty Oum, or RoosterTeeth. Ask me if I'd love to write with/for them though._

\--

Neo was certainly taking her sweet time with their preparations and that left far, _far_ too much time for Cinder's thoughts to wander.

It was better to be feared than loved; never before had a lesson learned in a life left once upon a time been more relevant than the present.

She was no longer the weak willed girl cowering in the ashes and stinking of wood smoke in hopes _she_ would be left unnoticed. That one more night would pass without the heavy hand or boot crashing against her face, stomach, or back for the pettiest slight. Every spark of life crushed beneath her heel another reminder of the self she wanted to be rid of once and for all. Power, sweet and pure, was her sole ally and ambition and carried her through any failure that came her way. As long as she had Power? She had life; and she could come back from  _anything_.

Salem held more Power at her disposal than Cinder herself could have dreamed of; Power she would, in time, seek to make her own. Salem, Cinder knew, was not a stupid woman. No one had the amount of knowledge or Power at their disposal without the keen strategy or intelligence to utilize it properly-- and the knowledge that any allies made would, eventually, betray her in attempts to seize what she had for themselves.  A matter of "when" not "if" at this point; the Fall Maiden was fairly certain that Salem was expecting her inevitable betrayal and so kept her close to watch for obvious signs. Pity the old witch wouldn't know what hit her when her plan came to fruition.

The monster's arm, cold and soulless at her side, clenched its fist at the thought of betrayal of the one who'd bestowed it upon her. Cinder's nails dug into the sickeningly cool flesh in response. _She_ was its master now; not the witch who had gifted it to her and it would do well to remember who allowed it to live so long as it remained useful. Master it, Salem had told her. And master it, like she had the fools who looked to her for orders, she would in the end.

 _After all,_ Cinder lifted one hand and summoned a plume of flame to dance above her palm. A faintly flickering aura hovering in her peripheral vision indicated the activation of her powers. _This world is_ mine _for the taking; Salem can take her revenge on Ozpin and wage her petty little war. I have bigger aspirations than dealing with ex-lovers like some sort of lovelorn fool._

Which brought to mind the unpleasant face of the bumbling blond idiot who'd attacked her. Who thought he could demand answers and deserve to get anything more than a blast of fire to the face for it. Oh, she'd tormented him; the spineless boy was no match for a woman of her caliber and she couldn't tell why the foolish girl atop the clock tower had bothered with him in the first place. He was nothing special; clumsy, stupid, and utterly worthless as an existence. A pity, really, the girl he'd screamed his 'whys' over had been almost interesting and it would have been all the more satisfying to kill her had that fool Ozpin's plan to have her inherit the Maiden's power succeeded.

A part of her, however small, envied the loyalty and devotion to her memory shown by the merry little band of troublemakers. The red head's grace and natural skill had been admirable, her emotional weaknesses and attachments to morality and her 'friends' less so and had been her undoing in the end. She, in the end, was _weak_ and perished like every other weakling in Remnant. That was the rule, after all; the strong survived, the weak perished or were ruled. Those same words from the Spring Maiden who'd humiliated her echoed in her head.

Cinder hissed, hand sweeping out to blast flame into the shadows in a fit of temper.

Red garbed _bitch_ with her blade and ice. She should have been cowed. Should have bent knee and offered her life up like the dirt eating worm she was. Like the red headed girl, she too had _loyalty_ and devotion. Undeserved, of course, but still there nonetheless. Only, unlike the clock tower, _that_ woman had Power; _true_ Power and she knew how to use it as though it were as natural as breathing. Raven Branwen had played her in such a thoroughly similar game that she'd so often done she'd nearly puked from disgust and had just _left her_ alive as though she were too insignificant to bother killing. The lecture filled insult, being called a _girl_ by such a woman, still stung; how dare she talk down to her as though she were a stupid child?

She was Cinder Fall; internationally wanted criminal mastermind and Fall Maiden. She was as close to a _god_ as this pathetic world had and she would make Raven understand that when she finished draining the last of her unjustly granted power for herself.

 _And to think I used to_ like _the color Red._ She thought in disgust. They'd called it a power color for good reason and, when _she_ wore it, all eyes fell on her and she _was_ Power. But then Little Red had stolen that from her right after the red haired girl had perished. The silver eyed brat whose screams haunted her just as much as the occasional throbbing of her face and pull of scar tissue. Cinder would never admit to the nightmares of a whey faced child whose eyes blinded her and caused a fire of a different sort to rip through her body tormenting her throughout the night. Of the thought of meeting the brat causing her to _shake_ with fury and fear simultaneously. Salem's demand to keep the girl alive would be ignored. She wanted Ruby Rose _dead_ and she was willing to stop at nothing until that goal was achieved.

Raven Branwen had the Power she deserved and was destined to have. She had a _family_ , one she'd managed to alienate thanks to her betrayal, and a place to call home.

Pyrrha Nikos, oh yes; she knew the name of the one who'd asked her if she believed in destiny, had power, potential, influence, _and_ the happy life she should have had.

And then Little Red. Ruby Rose. That little bitch had it _all_ ; Power, Friends, Loyalty, Family, and a _Destiny_.

None of it she deserved and _all_ of it something _she_ should have had.


	2. Homecoming (Ghira Belladonna/Kali Belladonna)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghira has a lot on his mind after Blake's unexpected return home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to the parents of the world who have survived abuse and face the tough reality of children following in their footsteps in spite of their best efforts. Keep breathing, and keep reaching out.

Ghira was not known to be a man of little action when there was a problem to fix on the best of days.

He paced, prowled, and stalked across the floors of their hard won home. It’d taken them  _ years _ after their ‘acquisition’ of the property in Menagerie to get enough materials to build the Belladonna compound and every beam, every board, screen, and mat had been handmade and put into place by his hands. Hands that, as he looked at the claws--  sharp and black and ready to rend the throats of the traitorous bastards who’d hurt his daughter, knew how to crush and kill and destroy just as much as they had become familiar with creation, healing, and mending of things once broken.

It was yesterday in his eyes that his daughter, the spitting image of her mother when they had first met with  _ his _ sense of justice and eagerness to change the world burning in her gaze, had stood before him and decried his efforts and left at the sides of those he had once admired and allied with who would lead them all to destruction. Age, Ghira knew, and experience would teach his daughter more than he could have. But those experiences, the sights and smells and sensations, were ones he and Kali had agreed to shield her from; the battles of the old should never be carried on by the new generation.

To see Blake again had been a simultaneous joy and blow to the gut he hadn’t expected; not for the first time was he grateful that he allowed Kali to screen visitors and make judgement calls on his behalf. She had given him time to prepare with a subtle warning located beneath the steaming mug sent along with the guard.  But nothing,  _ nothing _ , could have prepared him for what he had seen when she'd entered his study.

His fire, one he’d been so proud of her for inheriting even as it exasperated him, no longer shone out of her eyes. Her mother’s stubborn set to her chin nowhere to be found and the telltale slump of defeat to her shoulders combined with her averted gaze was all he’d needed to know at a glance; Beacon’s fall had caused more than physical injury and his daughter had returned home feeling as though she had failed. 

His heart had broken a little more at the death grip she had on the tea tray she’d brought in with her and the way she held herself as if expecting a physical, or verbal, blow. 

Who, he’d wanted to demand of her, had hurt her? Who had beaten the fire out of her and caused her to feel so small and insignificant? She was a Belladonna and  _ weakness _ was not in their make; they were fierce, strong, and they  _ survived _ no matter what. He knew better than anyone what she was capable of because she was  _ his daughter _ . Her mother’s grace and beauty combined with his fire and stubborn will.  Holding her had been enough to hurt them both all over again.  The words they’d exchanged, the heated arguments and accusations of a child and parent unable to see one another’s perspectives, and the distance that had grown more and more until it resembled the shattered moon above them. 

She was home now; safe where he could see her, and yet she had never felt so far away as she had in the moments prior to her apology.

“Ghira,” Kali cut his frenetic train of thought, and his pacing, short. “you’re going to wear holes in the floor, dear.”

The temptation to respond with an uncharacteristically snarky response was incredibly strong. But, as any good leader knew, self-restraint had its merits. That and he really didn’t want to have  _ another _ round with his wife as a result of a verbal slip up needing to be settled the old fashioned way; a duel. Kali was the love his wife and one of the most patient, caring women he had ever had the pleasure of knowing with a backbone made of something stronger than steel and just as enduring. 

She was also something out of a nightmare when it came to combat and the day he had to face her in a one on one match was  _ not _ going to be in the near future if he could help it. 

With a concentrated effort, he sheathed his claws and ceased his pacing long enough for his wife to rest her head against the small of his back. Her arms, always his solace and comfort, wrapped around his waist. He covered both of her hands with one of his with a smile in spite of his dark mood.

“What do I do, Kali?” He asked quietly. “What do I do to bring her out of the shadows she fought to leave?”

How does he not demand answers and go straight to the heart of the problem to take care of it, personally, once and for all? How did he reconcile his desire to lead by example to the fury he felt as a father and the desire to seek his own justice for the crimes that boy and Sienna had wrought upon one of their own?  How did he just… stand by and do  _ nothing _ but let her find her own way the way he had thus far without it killing him all the more?

“You do as you always have,” she reassured him. He could feel the way her ears flicked to catch the sounds in the house as she spoke. “you love her, and you trust that she will come to you when she is ready.”

She leaned around his side to smile at him. “Just as  _ you _ told  _ me _ to do when she first left home, remember?”

“It was simpler,” he told his wife quietly. “when we were able to protect her and could see the threats coming. I didn’t… I thought that Sienna would...”

Kali’s expression flickered, smile faded slowly as her eyes dropped to the floor. She’d had misgivings about Sienna Khan, but had chosen to follow her husband’s lead and support him in his decision to step down and hand leadership over to the fiery woman. “We don’t know the details, dear.” Kali replied gently. “Until we do, it’s for the best that we not take any action that might draw unwanted attention.”

She nudged him to try and force the bleak look off his face. She too had seen the signs and indicators of the type of trauma they'd endured when they were Blake's age and younger. She herself having been quite deep into a situation prior to her unexpected meeting with Ghira all those years ago. “She’s your daughter, remember? If anyone is going to leave this place stronger than when they arrived, it’s going to be Blake. She takes after you, right?”

Ghira’s lips pulled up into a faint smile as he gave a nod in agreement. 

“Then we will trust her, Ghira, to heal and to bounce back; whatever it takes for her to do so, we can make sure she knows we have her back and let her come to us.” Kali replied firmly. "She will talk to us when she's ready; we just need to be prepared to _be_ ready for her to do so." The subject, as far as she was concerned, was closed.   Blake came home because she needed them; and as her parents, it was their job to make sure she had a place to come home to-- even if that wasn’t the place she called home anymore. 

Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she shot her husband a sly look. “On to a different topic, my dear; how many admirers other than young Wukong do you think our daughter has?”

_ “Kali.” _


	3. Red (Ruby Rose x Pyrrha Nikos)

Pyrrha Nikos was everything Ruby dreamed of being; calm, confident, composed, and well loved by adult and fellow student alike. A  _ true _ Huntress in the making and Ruby felt the pull to the tall red headed woman in a way she hadn’t ever experienced in her entire life-- and she’d been on the receiving end of Yang  _ and _ her dad’s sparring sessions. 

Had she mentioned that Pyrrha was  _ tall _ ?

She was special; a person destined for greatness and it was obvious to everyone around her. Ruby wanted just a little of that destiny; not a whole lot of it because the idea of being  _ that _ kind of legend was way too scary to think about. But maybe just being a friend and ally to someone that cool would be enough.

So, she tried when she had time in between the strange going ons, training, and missions her team were sent on. And succeeded! Pyrrha became a friend and someone she admired almost as much as her Uncle Qrow and her mother. They didn’t talk much, but the coolest moment of her entire life happened in a  _ food fight _ against her secret idol.

No punishment Glynda had managed to come up with had managed to put a dent in that day.

It took Ruby longer than she cared to admit to acknowledge that she had more than a passing admiration for Pyrrha. She didn’t know if it was because she was young and ignorant and naïve or if it was because she just… didn’t expect it. Didn’t realize it until she was talking to Summer Rose one trip home and it hit her hard and fast.

She panicked, as anyone would have expected her to, and spent the next several days throwing herself into preparations for the Festival to avoid the topic.

Pyrrha treating them to lunch didn’t help either and it kept her up that night.

She wasn’t the only one awake either; Blake wasn’t doing well due to some kind of trouble of her own. As the youngest, the other girls on Team RWBY had a habit of underestimating just how much she noticed, and the shadows under Blake’s eyes and agitated twitches of her ears-- which were  _ almost _ as cute as Zwei’s-- spoke volumes. 

Almost as much as the way Yang’s eyes followed her teammate’s when she thought no one was looking. Or the way Weiss’ shoulders hitched when the Schnee name was mentioned and the stolen glances at her communicator implied something bad.

And then the Fall of Beacon happened.

Ruby closed her eyes and tried to fall asleep for the tenth time. Nora and Ren were huddled together, as always, and Jaune was out training again when he thought no one was awake. Uncle Qrow was dozing but listening for any sign of trouble too. If she listened hard enough, she could catch the faint strain of Pyrrha’s voice from the recording Jaune kept on his phone.

She thought about one of the silly random conversations she’d had with Pyrrha before her death. The night of the stupid dance had been a lesson in humiliation in more ways than one and seeing Pyrrha in a clingy red dress versus her own dress had been… awful.

Pyrrha was tall, confident,  _ and _ beautiful.

She was short, awkward, and baby faced.

_ “You’re wearing red too!” Pyrrha smiled and gestured to Ruby’s dress and then to her own for emphasis. “You wear quite a bit of it, is that your favorite color?” _

_ She’d never really thought about it and had honestly just made her outfit to match Crescent Rose’s design for ease. A weapon to match its wielder, so to speak.  _

_ Pyrrha had smiled at her flustered attempt at explaining. “Red is a lovely color, it suits you.” _

_ “Yeah, well,” Ruby had laughed nervously in return, squirming under the compliment. “right back atcha! Red looks good on you too, not that any color  _ wouldn’t _ but uhh, yeah.” _

She’d fled about half a second later completely convinced the sheer magnitude of her embarrassment was enough to send even the most hungry of Grimm fleeing for the hills. Pyrrha’s surprise and blush had been reward enough.

Why she’d been surprised was something she hadn’t figured out until Jaune had broken down and talked about what had happened.

_ Strong. Confident. Brave… no one ever thought she was ever scared or needed help. We all failed her. _ Ruby’s eyes squeezed shut as she hurriedly banished the memory of her death before it could build. The loss of someone she held in high regard had been hard enough, but the realization during her time at home had hurt worse.

She had her realization too late; and she’d never be able to tell her or find out if it was more than just a school girl crush. It was the loss of what might have been that added a new layer of grief to the guilt, shame, and regret that surrounded the red headed heroine’s death.

Ruby rolled on to her back and looked to the sky.  _ You would have liked her, Mom. I think you would have seen something of yourself in her. Dad probably would have too.  _

“Pyrrha,” Ruby whispered to the stars. “I liked you.”

No response but the rustle of the wind. Ruby’s smile wobbled and she turned over to muffle any sounds she might have made into her pillow. 

She missed the twinkling flash of a shooting star streaking overhead just a few seconds later.


End file.
